


Are you gonna eat that?

by cartouche



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hannibal's most dangerous past time is crocheting, I am not responsible, M/M, Mentions of Sex, No sad stabbing here thank you, They both get a little frisky, Will wonders why he puts up with him, alright i'll stop blathering now, and he's also super sassy, and or several cavaties, because she#'s not dead either, but really its cute trust me, dont try and sue pls i am poor, everyone acts like teenagers, hannibal's gonna have to work for that ass, happy boyfriends, jack and zeller place bets, look I wrote this pre-season 2 don't judge me, lots of fluff and cuteness and adorability, reading this fic will also probably in all liklihood give you diabetes, tags and stuff might change if i continue with this be warned, warnings: contains mentions of beverly squeeing, will has a potty mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:20:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartouche/pseuds/cartouche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Of course, being Will Graham meant something had to go wrong eventually. But the most he was expecting was a dead body or two.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jack says, 'It's about Hannibal.' And Will hears himself physically gulp.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Well, shit.</em></p><p> </p><p>-</p><p>The happy boyfriends AU, where I ignore everything that happened in Season 2 and live in the little happy world in my head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are you gonna eat that?

**Author's Note:**

> So I was digging through my drafts and found this tucked away in the dusty corner of my hannigram folder. I really have no excuses for this, it was written Pre-Season 2, and as such reflects my happy self before Mizumono crushed the tatters of my soul. I don't really know how to describe it, other as the happy AU that should have happened. Everything is fluffy and happy and nothing hurts. 
> 
> Don't ask me how the dynamics work, because in my head there is not such thing as Doctor Patient relationships and there's no way Hannibal would get fired for dating Will ahahahaa
> 
> Posted for Johana, who has been waiting for me to put something up for the last 4 months. Sorry darling, this probably still won't make up for it. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, apologies.

_'If we took a little walk,_

_We might have a little talk!_

_Pray let us take the air!_

_Said the Table to the Chair.'_

_The Table and the Chair, Edward Lear_

_-_

Later on Will _knows_ he's going to regret this. It's a bad idea, but he's a push over and a complete sucker and _fine_ , he'll deal with the regret/mortification/end of his life.

'Let me pick you up from work tomorrow, Will.' It's a soft not-question that Will's far too familiar with from their sessions together, and soft kisses wind along his jaw and cascade down his neck. He swears this man will be his downfall.

'Alright,' He says, and Hannibal Lecter, e.g. his well dressed, psychoanalysing _boyfriend_ (that word still cringes him out) of a year, actually has the decency to look surprised. Will counts it as a bitter triumph.

It's not as if he could have said no, not after Hannibal had managed to secure tickets to see Will's favourite baseball team (which he sat through, even though Will was 87% sure he didn't understand _why_ the man was swinging a stick at a ball), made him a gorgeous meal that reminded him of summer nights in Louisiana (which actually rivalled the real Cajun cuisine he'd grown up on), and then thoroughly fucked him into his thousand count sheets (just how he needed, slow and teasing). Sometimes Will cursed the man for being so overly attentive that he couldn't help but feel like a total dick (He even knew which type of toothbrush Will preferred. _Toothbrush_ ). And to top it all off he was staring at Will with eyes like a stray puppy as he tangled their sweaty limbs together and nuzzled gently at his collarbone (He can barely get over the fact that the man is practically _cuddling_ him post coitus. Maybe the good doctor isn't so stoic after all. Or maybe it's just a clever ploy, one designed to ensnare Will further. He has to admit it's working).

It wasn't as if he could have said no. He'd felt enough guilt over the kicked puppy look he'd received after he'd asked for ketchup to go with his prime-cut steak last week.

Still, he knew he was going to regret it.

'6 o'clock. Don't be late.'

-

By the time the hands on the clock have crawled around to 6, Will is slightly jittery. Well, perhaps slightly is an understatement. He's actually considering the least painful way to kill himself using the stapler sitting on the reception desk by the time a low purr rumbles to a stop outside the BAU. His stomach leaps and it really shouldn't be that big of a deal, but after keeping their relationship status quiet for just over a year, Will is terrified. And that's putting it lightly.

Still, he can't help the _really_ unhelpful smile that spreads itself over his lips as a familiar suited figure glides through the door. He fidgets awkwardly, chin dropping to his chest so he can study the floor, and he feels like a goddamn high school girl, waiting to be swept up into the arms of her loving boyfriend. Hannibal doesn't disappoint. A warm finger under his chin gently tilts his head back up to gaze into fathomlessly dark eyes. Will pretends he doesn't look like a sleep-deprived tomato, does a quick check that no one is doing a late shift in his peripheral and then definitely doesn't squeak as soft lips press into his and strong arms wrap around him, pulling him flush against a (surprisingly well toned) chest hidden under fabric so expensive Will is going to get a migraine just thinking about it. The lips curl against his own and he parts without thinking about it, sighing as a tongue sneaks into his mouth to tangle with his own, his hands finding their way into ashen hair, pushing into silky locks. They stay like for a while, until the need to breathe becomes too great and they part, Will still smooshed into Hannibal like he's a piece of ham trapped in a sandwich.

 _Good evening William,_  is whispered against his lips, voice as calm as if they'd just sat down for a fucking therapy session, and had not been making out like horny teenagers in relative public. He sucks in a ragged breath and carefully prises himself out of Hannibal's arms, who lets go not without a large dollop of regret that makes Will cringe.

'Hey.' He resorts to running a hand through his hair and attempting to look like he hasn't just had his face sucked off by his psychiatrist, and fails miserably, refusing to even so much as glance at Hannibal because he knows he's going to look utterly pristine and rumple free. 'Maybe I should let you pick me up more often, if you're going to kiss me like that.' They smirk at each other for a moment.

'I may take you up on that offer.' He proffers an elbow to Will who loops his arm through with a roll of his eyes because he's not a fucking Victorian debutante, but secretly he loves it and Hannibal _knows_ , the bastard. 'Shall we?' He nods jerkily and lets himself stumble along in his boyfriend's graceful wake, wondering if he looks like a penguin next to a leopard.

In hindsight, he thinks, it could have gone a lot worse.

How little does he know.

-

It's not until he reaches the BAU the next day, that he notices anything different. His evening had been pretty amazing as usual, filled with good food, good conversation and some much needed spooning that he had managed to coerce Hannibal into doing. His morning had been going well too, waking up after 5 solid hours of sleep without being soaked in sweat to his nude partner cooking him ~~pancakes~~ _crêpes_ for breakfast (he'd wished he'd had a camera, because that image was wank-worthy).

Of course, being Will Graham meant something had to go wrong eventually. But the most he was expecting was a dead body or two.

He really should have noticed it when the corridors fell quiet as he walked past, or the hushed whispering that seemed to come from behind him at all times or the _look_ that Price gave him as he made his way to his lecture hall. But no, nothing can bring Will down. It isn't until Jack forcibly grabs him, shakes him a bit and growls _We need to talk_ in his most serious voice that Will even begins to realise something isn't quite right. He's being dragged into his darkened office before he can open his mouth and pushed firmly into a chair. All it really needs is a bright light shining in his face and a smoky atmosphere and he could almost believe this was a shady investigation in some B-list film noir.

Jack says, 'It's about Hannibal.' And Will hears himself physically gulp.

Well, shit.

'What exactly is your _relationship_ with Doctor Lecter?' He makes a very unmanly squeak that will hopefully never leave this room and considers how this situation can be salvaged, whether it's worth a sneaky half truth to try and dig his way out of this before he decides to just roll with honesty and give in his resignation form (It's a Thursday and he really can't be asked to deal with this). It's not as if Hannibal isn't a not-so-secret millionaire (Will checked his bank statements one day and nearly choked) and can't support the two of them. Besides he'd wanted Will to open about their status from the start, Will could call it a late anniversary present.

'We ... Uh ... Have been dating ... For about a year ...' Jack's face does not look promising. He's almost swollen, like an angry puffer fish, eyes bulging a little. Will cringes and drops his gaze to his hands, wondering if anything he can say can possibly make this situation less shit. So much for having a good morning.

'Thank _God_.'

'Look Jack, I'm really sorry, if you need me to resign I'm more than ha- _What?!'_ It takes Will's brain longer than it should to catch up and to his shame he sits there for a moment, mouth hung open like he's in a kid's cartoon. Jack smirks smugly and sits down in the chair opposite Will, fingers laced and legs crossed.

'Zeller owes me 100 bucks.' His face flashes through a variety of emotions ranging from mildly annoyed to downright surprised, before settling on accusing. He leans forward and jabs a finger into the pristine wood of Jack's desk.

'Tell me you weren't placing bets.'

'Will it make you feel better if I say no?' He narrows his eyes and resists smirking when Jack flinches. 'It was pretty harmless. We all knew you two were dating, ever since you stopped flirting with Alana. Do you have a fetish for psychiatrists? Plus the terrible innuendos gave it away.' He was going to kill Hannibal. Slowly and painfully. After he had finished grading Will's papers. 'But none of us could decide how long it had been. Price thought it was love at first sight, I said a year and Zeller said 6 months.' It isn't until his vision starts to grey that he realises he's stopped breathing. Jack leans forward with a concerned _Will?_ and he forces his mouth open, pushing in a heavy breath.

'Are we in _high school?!_ '

'Will, calm do-'

'How did you know?' A part of him already knows the answer, itching at the back of his mind, but he wants to hear it. _Then_ he'll kill Hannibal, nude pancake making be damned.

'Beverly was just on her way out last night and saw Doctor Lecter come to pick you up.' He is so dead. So very dead. 'Apparently it was all very romantic. She took a picture to prove it, showed it to Price, who showed it to me, and I showed it to Zeller-' High School, definitely high school, the FBI is run by a group of _teenagers_.

Then it hits him. Zeller had a picture of him snogging the breath out of an esteemed psychiatrist.

'No,' He breathes, fainter than a whisper, 'Nonononono-'

'And Zeller tacked it on to the pinboard in the staff room.' His life is over. Completely over. That picture is going to haunt him for the rest of his life. He'll never be rid of it. It'll follow him until the day he dies, taunting him from communal pinboards. 'If it helps you two make an adorable couple together. Even Bella thinks so.' Will weighs up his options and decides teaching in front of a group of students can't be any worse than knowing Jack and Bella discuss his relationship. He staggers out of the office, a little surprised Jack lets him go, and in the general direction of his lecture hall, well aware of the fact he's already late, simultaneously praying that he's not the only one who _hasn't_ seen the picture.

-

Bev, Price and Zeller find him staring morosely at cold coffee an hour and a half later. He'd thought his hiding place was good, the 'haunted' janitor's closet on the 3rd floor, and he'd been fully prepared to spend the rest of his life in the tiny room, with unjudgemental threadbare mops and cleaning detergent for company. Unfortunately Team Science (as Will has silently christened them) are having none of his moping and have managed to cram all four of them in the 5 foot square space after realising getting him out was nigh on impossible. The tuna from Zeller's sandwich is almost unbearable, but Will really can't bring himself to care.

'Maybe if I just wear a paper bag on my head for the rest of my life it will be fine.' Bev offers him a sympathetic scoop of chocolate mousse that he gratefully accepts because it's definitely better than stone cold decaf.

'Class was that bad huh?'

'I spent the entire time fielding questions about blowjobs and whether an age gap matters. Apparently 90% of the student body believe Hannibal is my sugar daddy.' Price perks up and Will wants to cry but knows he'll get teased relentlessly for being a preschool girl.

'Is he? I mean you two fit the proverbial criteria; rich, older guy looking for some company and young, handsome twink looking for stability and a little extra in the bank. Rub the genie's magic lamp and he'll grant you some wishes.' Will splutters for a bit and he can tell by the look of horror on Bev's face he's going purple and should probably breath so he does. Then he summons up as much indignation as possible and all the brain power he has left in order to form a coherent sentence.

'Hannibal is _not_ my sugar daddy or any other kind of father figure in my life. We just like each other, ok?' Price holds up his hand in mock surrender and Will tries very hard to ignore the ridiculously expensive Patek Phillippe watch he'd found waiting for him on his kitchen table the other day. And the suit Hannibal had bought for him after having it tailored. And the set of suspiciously diamond-like cufflinks that had appeared when it wasn't a birthday, anniversary or other special occasion.

Shit.

(Un)Fortunately Bev seems more than happy to continue the conversation.

'So, what's he like in bed? Is he kinky? I bet he's kinky.' Will wants the ground to swallow him up. He wonders if lemon cleaning detergent is toxic enough to kill him or at the very least knock him out. He looks to Zeller and Price for support and finds nothing but curious stares. And he thought this day couldn't get any worse. 'I mean you two have obviously-' She makes an obscene gesture with her hands and Will is going to blush so hard he explodes. There's a pause. 'Maybe we should start with an easier question. He's a pretty tall guy, right, big feet and hands, broad shoulders. Everything in proportion?' He's never felt more mortified (this genuinely beats the time Timmy Davis pulled his pants down in the middle of an assembly in 6th grade) but manages a jerky nod. Bev cackles and rubs her hands together like a criminal mastermind and Will just wants to throw himself out of the nearest window. 'I've always wanted to know what's under all those fancy ass suits. I bet he's pretty ripped too, one of those office guys who stay in shape with pilates and stuff. God Hannibal Lecter, ten out of ten, would bang. Not that I'd steal him from you, I'm just saying you have got yourself quite the catch.' Hannibal does do pilates. Will wisely keeps his mouth shut. Price and Zeller are nodding sagely at him and he surreptitiously pinches himself because this is a bad dream and he's going to wake up and have fantastic lazy morning sex and then forget about this _nightmare_. The pinch hurts and Will still doesn't wake up to crêpes and an orgasm.

'Yeah you got yourself quite the housewife. His cooking is renowned, his dress sense is impeccable and he's well endowed down below. What more could you ask for?' Will is tempted to hiss at Zeller but Bev looks like she wants to pet him enough as it is so he opts to not encourage her weird animal fantasies.

'I bet he's one of those thoughtful guys who take it on themselves to know every little detail about you too, like exactly how much milk you like in your coffee and your donut filling preference. Has he got your lecture timetable memorised yet?' Will wonders if Price is secretly a mind reader because how else could he know that Hannibal knows his schedule better than Will does (it's a useful trait. He's been saved too many times by a quick phone call to said significant other who also manages to remember his lecture topics and where he last left his laptop)? 'Let me guess, he even washes your clothes for you?'

' _No_ ,' He's blurted out indignantly before he can stop himself and he really doesn't want to finish the sentence but he's dealing with three pairs of very expectant eyes here and it's quite possibly the lesser of two evils so he mumbles them out. 'He just gets a better discount at the dry cleaners ...' Zeller wolf whistles and Price gives him a knowing look while Bev resorts to choking on her Tropicana. Will does pretty much the only thing he can do which involves making a strategic retreat, standing up and moving to the door. He can't resist one last jab though, pausing at the door to give Zeller a smarmy grin.

'Oh and Z? We've been dating for a year. Jack wants his hundred bucks.' Without waiting to see his face he turns tail and runs, hoping to make it down to the lobby without being asked for the fifth time if " _Doctor_ Lecter" has a _medical kink_ or prefers chains and whips.

On the way back he stops by the staffroom to destroy the picture. It's still tacked to the wall mercifully, although Will has no doubt there are many waiting copies ready to replace it. He takes it off with a level of tenderness only reserved for a handful of people and looks at the photo. It's almost cheesy, the way Will is just on his tiptoes and their arms are entwined and a few wisps of Hannibal's hair have fallen across his forehead and it would be Oscar worthy if they had only been outside in the rain. He studies it for a moment (pictures of the two of them are rare as it is, let alone intimate pictures), noticing how utterly ridiculous Will looks in his shabby teaching gear next to Hannibal's pristine clothing and how Hannibal's long, artist fingers clutch at Will's blazer like he's precious and the way their eyelids droop hiding a loving gaze.

Fuck, he thinks and pockets the slip of paper, it's a good picture.

-

By the time Will gets home he's thoroughly exhausted and not looking forward to dealing with an overprotective boyfriend. He stumbles in through Hannibal's door, nearly knocks the expensive looking vase standing on a little table to the floor as he kicks off his shoes, and dumps his satchel on the low chair that he's extremely sure has never been sat in. Then he makes his way to the kitchen where he instinctively knows Hannibal is waiting (he always seems to gravitate back to food when he's stressed and Will's worried no one has diagnosed him as an 'emotional eater' yet). Sure enough he's perched over his little box of recipes, sorting through them, looking unfairly like a greek god in his crisp white shirt and tight charcoal slacks while Will probably looks like the black death has struck again.

The look on his face when he glances up confirms this theory.

'Good evening Will.' He grunts out a reply and pretends he's anywhere but in this room. Really, all he wants is peace and quiet so he can drown himself in the super secret stash of super secret beer except him and Alana had managed to plough their way through the entirety of it last weekend and Hannibal hasn't had a chance to get some more yet (they'd apologised like chastised school children but really it is so _good_ that they could hardly be blamed). Instead Hannibal raises an eyebrow and says,

'Hot cocoa?' (Which is basically their code for _I've had an awful day,_ _help me_.)

And Will thinks he might be a teeny tiny bit in love. He nods meekly and Hannibal graciously lets him sit on top of the spotless kitchen counter and watch him make the drink. It doesn't take long before a tall mug is being pressed into his hands, brimming with cream and pirouline wafers and marshmallows. There's even a jar of high end organic chocolate syrup placed next to him and Will considers the fact that he may have the best boyfriend in the world, because he's 99% sure Hannibal wouldn't have touched chocolate sauce before he met Will and now he's changing his life for him, even in small ways (maybe he needs to stop looking so deeply into the meaning of the syrup because he's starting to sound an awful lot like he's psychoanalysing and that's Hannibal rubbing off on him). He breathes in a curl of aromatic steam and feels the tension in his shoulders relax, just a little.

'I'm guessing your distress is about our relationship being revealed to the BAU?' He narrows his eyes and stares at Hannibal's overly innocent expression. He might be good at reading Will but he's not _that_ good. And as far as Will knows, his boyfriend is yet to develop mind reading capabilities. Though he wouldn't entirely rule out the possibility.

'Who told you?' He watches lips quirk up and eyes drop in an expression that can only be described as _cheekily sheepish_. It's uniquely Hannibal and Will's tempted to kiss it right off his face.

'Ah,' Quick fingers carefully knot an apron around his slim waist and Will swings his socked feet like he's three years old and can get away with it. 'Alana may have mentioned something to do with a picture and I made the link.' He should have known. Those two are thick as thieves and complete besties if Will has ever seen them (not that he's jealous or anything). Still everything just screams high school at him and if he wasn't currently doing his best impression of a toddler he would definitely be whining about the levels of maturity in the grown men and women that represent the country's law enforcement. 'Discussing it could help.' It's the tone of voice that does it, the whole smooth, calm _'Trust me I'm a psychiatrist'_ intonation that makes Will's skin want to crawl off his body, not to mention the fact it's another one of those not-questions that drive him crazy (He still thinks it's some kind of secret technique only passed down to the next generation of psychiatrists).

'How many times have I said to keep the psychiatry in the office?' A quick kiss is pressed into his lips as Hannibal glides past, gathering ingredients, and Will supposes he's had worse apologies.

'Many times Will. You must forgive my concern but I _am_ worried about you.' He pauses in front of Will, parting his thighs to slide between them until their chests are flush against each other and long fingers can trace over his nose and cheekbones and jawline. 'I hate knowing you are uncomfortable even as it thrills me that our colleagues have been so accepting. I would rather that we had remained undiscovered than you should feel such anguish.'

'It's fine Hannibal, really. Just a shock I guess, I'll get used to it.' He watches the man nod and lean in to press another frustratingly soft kiss to his lips before long fingers gently push his glasses back up from where they had slipped down his nose and he steps back to continue making their dinner.

'I suppose because we were not revealed under your own terms and circumstances you experienced a lack of control that you have only just regained in your life, causing you to experience your past anxiety again.' Will raises his eyebrows and the grin returns as a slab of meat is retrieved from the fridge. 'My apologies, but you should know by now I can't shut it off. I gave you plenty of warning.'

Will sighs and wonders how he fell in love with such a ridiculous man.

'What's for dinner?'

-

The next day is a little better. The whispering seems to die down a bit, he doesn't get kidnapped by Jack at any point in the day and he actually manages to do some proper teaching that doesn't involve uncovering his sex life in 20 questions (it's just fortunate the talk he's giving is on the history of homicidal necrophiliacs and that seems to sufficiently distract his class). Alana calls his cell approximately 31 times during the day (he's going to have serious words with Hannibal and their apparently non-existent confidentiality policy) and he carefully lets them all go to voice mail because that's one conversation he's not looking forward to having. He manages to eat his home made lunch (Hannibal had insistently pressed a Tupperware at him this morning and Will had genuinely felt like he was part of some twisted 1950's advert) in relative peace (he'd had to resort to the morgue but at least the dead didn't pester him about whether Hannibal ever wears sweatpants (no) and whether they would be interested in a _ménage à trois_ (also no). Beverly still coerces him into joining the usual Friday bar stint that is becoming a habit and he finds himself being dragged into the dimly lit room before he can protest. Jack, Zeller and Price have already gone ahead to snag their usual booth at the back, he's informed, which is why he's shepherded straight into the crowded bar.

Then his heart stops.

Because sitting in Will's usual space, as calm as ever, is Hannibal god damn Lecter. He stands out like a sore fucking thumb in his three piece suit but to Will's surprise, he is actually joking with Jack about something, face split into a smile and fingers lingering on the condensation slick sides of a brown bottle.

'This is a horrible dream isn't it?' Beverly just grins and guides Will up to the booth, Hannibal gracefully standing to allow her to scooch in before returning to _Will's_ seat. There is a cacophony of murmured greetings before Will leans forward and hisses,

'What is _he_ doing here?'

'I _can_ hear you Will.' Come the bemused reply that he chooses to ignore, looking instead to Jack.

'We thought it would be nice to invite Hannibal here seeing as he's part of the group now.' He's very close to hitting something (or someone, considering how Brian is smirking), hard.

'This is penance isn't it? I swear I'll never eat the last pop tart again, for as long as I live ...' He's beyond the point of caring how his voice could rival the moaning of something undead.

'Will-'

'He's even drinking beer! This isn't real, this can't be real.'

'Will-'

'It's not even good beer! It's cheap, shitty lager! And look at him, he's in a three piece suit. In a crappy bar. Drinking shitty beer.' He's being petulant and rude and everything Hannibal dislikes but he can't bring himself to,care, not after the last two days he's had.

'Yes, regrettably I didn't have time to change into something more appropriat-'

'Is that Budweiser? Tell me that isn't Budweiser.'

'Will, calm d- '

'He doesn't belong here! He should be off tasting wine or hobnobbing at some elite cocktail party!' He sucks in an exasperated breath and watches as Hannibal raises his eyebrows.

'I am no stranger to bars and clubs Will. I too was young once.' Well don't you just learn something new everyday. 'Would you like to sit down or is it customary to stand the entire evening?' The only trouble Will can see is the blatant lack of space. Hannibal's already sitting thigh to thigh with Beverly and that leaves about half an inch of cracked red leather which he doesn't feel like hanging off of. Five pairs of expectant eyes stare at him, and Will's not stupid, he gets the solution to their seating problem. This is all some fucking ploy to embarrass Will further and Hannibal is lucky Will is still gracing him with his presence, manipulative little shit.

Instead he clears his throat and says stiffly, 'I think I'll stand.' Bev looks more disappointed than Hannibal's puppy eyes, Zeller holds out his palm to Jack and Price rolls his eyes again. He sighs and gestures slightly, narrowly avoiding hitting a disgruntled waitress in the face. 'Or maybe I could pull up another chair, or-?'

'William ...' Hannibal begins, and he knows that voice, that's the _I know you'll do anything if I purr in my sexy accent voice_ and his resolve crumbles a bit more. 'There is no need to inconvenience anyone else. Come, sit down.' He stands there for a moment longer before huffing out a distinctly childish sigh and making to sit down, a perfectly not awkward, totally innocent perch across one of Hannibal's thighs. Only then familiar strong hands grasp his hips and guide him to nestle in the space between his thighs, Will's ass pressed snugly against his crotch in a way that must scream suggestive and silently Will curses Hannibal's possessive streak. For a moment he sits as still and rigid as possible, willing away the ferocious blush painting his cheeks and neck, before the warm hands snake around his front and gently press him back until he's essentially lounging in a chair of psychiatrist, head pillowed on a broad shoulder. Zeller huffs and places a bill in Jack's open hand and the conversation starts up again. Will idly listens to Price and Zeller arguing over who is the greatest wrestler of all time while graceful fingers draw patterns on the fabric of his jeans. It's oddly peaceful to sit there, surrounded by friends and his boyfriend, to feel the slow rise and fall of Hannibal's chest and the ticklish puff of each exhale against his skin and not have to worry about getting caught or being seen. Occasionally lips flutter over the shell of ear and press into his dark curls or low vibrations rumble through him when Hannibal joins in the conversation but stays quiet, content to just be without having to think or imagine or work.

He hates himself for saying it, but it's nice.

Well, it's nice until a stray hand that Will really hasn't been paying enough attention to, winds its pattern a _little too close_ to the no-go-zone and then, very purposefully, squeezes.

If anyone notices Will bolt upright, a blush burning on his cheeks, they don't mention it. He turns his head to frown at Hannibal, only to have his lips captured softly, to a varying degree of responses from playful disgust to full out _squeeing_ (Beverly is without a doubt responsible for the latter). Once they've parted the hands retreat and for a glorious moment Will thinks he's won.

Two minutes later the hand squeezes him teasingly gently again.

And another two minutes after that.

And another two minutes after that, by which time Will is awkwardly flushed and embarrassingly at half-mast, body eager for the good doctor's touch. At this point he decides that two can play at this game, and he begins to discretely grind backwards into his makeshift chair. Sharp teeth nip warningly at his jaw but he ignores them, still slowly circling his hips and making sure to rub himself against Hannibal's lap. It doesn't take long before he feels a telltale stirring and despite his apparent steeled self control a quick glance confirms a frustrated little frown gracing Hannibal's chiselled features matching the quiet growl that rumbles out of his chest. Will almost wants to smirk at how easily he can unravel the man, ruin his perfect appearance, except the hands have found their way back again and are really not making this easy for him.

'You are being terribly naughty William,' is breathed hotly into his ear, whispered silently, and Will can hear the thickening in his accent that is a sign of how affected Hannibal _really_ is.

'Hello pot, this is kettle, reminding you we're still both black,' A hand squeezes him again, harder, and it takes seriously willpower not to buck up under the table.

'Rude. You might have to be punished ...'

The _Oh God yeah_ has left his lips a little too loudly before he can even process it and not for the first time in his life Will wishes his mouth actually had a filter. Or at least a volume knob. Jack is staring at them with a look usually reserved for serial killers and Zeller is miming throwing up across the corner.

'Would you two mind keeping it PG-13 until you're alone?'

'Of course Jack, our apologies,' comes from somewhere over his shoulder but Will can still hear the tinges of lust until the thin layer of politeness, so he gives an innocent shift and has to bite back a moan when strong hands grasp his hips hard enough to bruise, holding him steady. He nods and tries desperately to will away the erection pressing uncomfortably at the zipper of his jeans with thoughts of Jack yelling and his grandmother naked. It mostly does the trick, although the proximity to Hannibal causes the blood to pool very close to his cock, on stand by. Finally Jack calls it a night and Hannibal chivalrously takes the bill (using only his pocket change) before bidding everyone a goodnight and practically dragging Will out of the little bar.

They don't even make it home. Will knows tomorrow he's going to have a plethora of bruises from a mixture of places (the steering wheel, the stairs and Hannibal's fingers to name a few), not to mention hickeys and bitemarks but by the time they finally slump down in bed in a sweaty mess and drift off, Will can't bring himself to care.

**Author's Note:**

> Well this was only meant to be a part one. If anyone cares enough and would like me to continue this, it could be arranged. Maybe. 
> 
> I'd also like to point out the title of this is exactly what I had it saved as. I don't understand me either.


End file.
